


The Garden Party

by TalesofAubergine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: Epilogue Compliant, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesofAubergine/pseuds/TalesofAubergine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the decisions we make are not for our benefit, but for those we hold closest and dearest to our hearts.</p><p> For the wizarding parents of Britain, the birthday party of the Malfoy Heir is an important date on the social calendar. The grounds are thronging with magical children enjoying the party in the wild way that children do. Everyone who is anyone is there with their offspring, and Hermione retreats to the seclusion of a shrubbery to gather her wits and work out why on earth she keeps doing this to herself.</p><p>Compliant to the exact wording of the Epilogue, not the implied content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Garden Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mel D](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mel+D), [Haley R](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Haley+R).



The witch eased back into the wrought-iron chair, absently running her fingers over the intricate metalwork as her eyes wandered across the view of beautifully manicured greenery. The grounds at the Manor were an absolute marvel of horticulture; sprawling lawns, fruiting trees and flowerbeds bursting with bright, fragrant blooms that ringed the homestead on three sides. The fourth was taken by a lush fernery and hedge-maze. It was the perfect place to hold today’s festivities.

Brightly-clothed children romped around the grounds, chasing and playing and shrieking with laughter. Their voices filled the air with joyful noise. Celebrations for this particular birthday boy were always something to be looked forward to. His parents spared little expense to make this day particularly grand- although their son’s choice of party theme this year would have given them pause in their planning. Muggle toys and games had been dispersed throughout the throngs of children - hoola-hoops, skipping ropes, pogo sticks, chess pieces that didn’t move. There were organised games of football, bulrush, and sack- and egg-races. Even the food wasn’t traditional magical fare. There were no pumpkin pasties or cauldron cakes. Instead there were neat trays of party pies and mini frankfurts wrapped in pastry. There were even plates of fairy-cakes. Crisps, hot chips, cupcakes iced high with buttercream- every type of processed, boxed, microwave-heated, Just-Add-Water-And-Refrigerate food was plated up and beautifully presented on long tables covered in crisp white linen. There were certain standards of dining that it seemed the Malfoys wouldn’t give up, even for a party.

The young master paused in his game of marbles to seek out his parents from the crowd of milling adults and flash them a winning smile before turning back to his game; strands of silver-white hair falling into his expressive grey eyes.

***

 

 Hermione exhaled deeply and turned her face up toward the warm sunlight. The day had dawned with unseasonably cheery weather, a last hurrah of sunshine and balmy weather before the air turned chill and autumn descended. Too soon she would be bundled back up in coats and scarves and heavy boots, trying to rub feeling back into little numb fingers and toes, and warding off sniffles and coughs. But for now her children were happy and healthy and running about like the wild creatures they were when they were with their friends.

 Looking up at the sound of approaching footsteps across the gravel pathway, Hermione smiled at the familiar freckled face and wicked brown eyes and relaxed further into her chair’s cushion.

“I was beginning to think I’d never find you,” Ginny sighed, flopping down into the adjacent chair and stretching her long legs out before her. “Society witches: madmen, all.”

 A smile quirked from the corner of Hermione’s mouth and she choked on her slip of fruit punch. “Those were mightily convenient Cannon’s tickets Harry managed to find,” she commented as Ginny stirred her own drink with a swizzle stick and eased off her shoes.

 Ginny grinned unashamedly. “What tipped you off?”

“Oh it was everything: the off-season game timed precisely to coincide with the Malfoy’s party; the tickets for two adults and one child; the sudden extreme need for Ron to bond with Hugo…” Hermione trailed off and sighed. “You know that I’m really grateful for everything Harry does for Ron, it’s just... It’s not exactly the easiest thing for me to be here either.”

“As much as Ron would be been an arse and made this whole thing infinitely more difficult, he does have right to be upset.” Ginny held up a hand to stall Hermione’s response and let her finish. “He does and you know that he does. He might go about dealing with his emotions in completely the wrong way, but you can’t stop him from feeling all of the things he’s feeling about this. They were dark days for him, and today is a harsh and bitter pill for him to swallow. But this isn’t about Ron. It’s about you.”

 Hermione frowned at her. Did Ginny honestly think that she wasn’t intensely aware of why her husband was absent at a time when Hermione needed him desperately? He hadn’t wanted to talk about the party. He’d just shut down and made excuses to get away whenever she’d brought it up.

 When she’d told him everything – _everything_ \- in those early days when she was still grieving and raw and unable to filter, he’d just wrapped his arms around her and held her while she sobbed her heart out. He held her as though they hadn’t not spoken or seen each other in those two years; hadn’t fallen apart in the worst way of shattered dreams and expectations. He’d smoothed her hair and let her snot on his shirt until she fell into an exhausted sleep, and then he’d left her curled up on his bed at the Burrow and had gone to stay with Harry at Grimmauld Place for a week.

 The brown-haired witch shuddered. Those had been dark days for both of them.

 Across the table, Ginny was peering at her intently, half gnawing on her bottom lip. Hermione forced out a breath and lowered her gaze.

 “This is really hard, Gin,” she admitted, swallowing hard when a lump rose in her throat.

 “You’re doing beautifully.”

Hermione snorted. “Ha! Hiding in the garden? Avoiding other adults? This is hardly a brilliant strategy.”

 “But you’re here,” Ginny reminded her quietly. “You came, even though you knew it would be hard. You came because you needed to see him.”

 “And what will that accomplish?” she demanded. “He wasn’t meant to be a part of my life after that night. It’s masochistic to say the least.”

 Ginny’s fine ginger eyebrows rose into her fringe. “Do you honestly believe that?”

 “Of course I do.” Hermione folded her arms across her chest and bit her tongue at the soft, sad, almost pitying look that came into her friend’s eyes.

 Ginny turned her knowing gaze away and out into the grounds where the children were still running rampant. Several of the adults had joined in on the egg-and-spoon race and a few were being told off for using sticking charms on their eggs, which-judging by their flapping arms- they disagreed with being an illegal advantage. Smiling to herself, Hermione spotted her daughter’s flaming halo as she turned summersaults down the rolling green. Rose made it almost completely to the bottom before she faltered and fell over giggling. She wobbled dizzily as she got to her feet, clinging unsteadily to her friends as they all traipsed unsteadily back up the hill in the usual manner of energetic eight-year-olds.

 “He looks just like his father, doesn’t he?”

 Reluctantly, Hermione tore her eyes away from her daughter’s antics to follow Ginny’s gaze. A group of boys were busily tying their ankles together for the near-by three-legged race. One burst into laughter that echoed across to where the witches sat watching, and clapped his friend on the back. His friend brushed almost translucent white hair from his pointed face and shoved back good naturedly.

 “They usually do,” she replied darkly and her friend shot her a look. “Rose and Hugo look like their father too.”

 “I would have thought that was a good thing, all things considered.” Ginny smoothed out her dress without meeting Hermione’s eyes.

 “Oh fucking hell, Ginny!” Hermione swore. “Do you thinking I haven’t been acutely aware of what would happen? It was already enough of a bloody scandal back then and the press didn’t even know the half of it!” Her scowl slipped and darkness lapped at her heart.

 The former Weasley reached across the table to grip Hermione’s hand tightly, providing a physical counterpart to her emotional support. This anger wasn’t really aimed at her. The witches sat that way for a long time, sipping their slowly-weakening drinks and looking around at nothing in particular.

 Hermione broke their connection and brusquely brushed a few stray curls from her face. “You’d think I would have learnt by now that my genes are definitely not the dominant kind.” She forced a laugh that sounded thin and hollow.

 Ginny’s lip received a few teeth marks before she replied. “We already know that Rosie is going to turn out to be just as clever as you are,” she said. “Maybe you pass on your brains, you know- the stuff that doesn't fade over the time; the stuff that matters.”

 “Perhaps,” Hermione murmured. “She would have had her hands full if that turns out to be true.”

  There was no need to explain who “ _she_ ” was. Hermione had no idea how Malfoy had explained everything to his new wife, Astoria. The young woman had looked just as terrified and strained as Hermione had that night. They had stared at each other across the Den, not speaking; Hermione clutching the small bundle in her arms. And Malfoy had stood beside his wife, his mask of control not quite as firmly in place as he would have wanted- or perhaps Hermione had been able to see through it back then. He was scared but determined to do what they had agreed was the right thing to do.

 Hermione had no idea if he’d still loved her then. Possibly he had, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Whatever it was that they had had had been ended when he’d realised that the betrothal his parents had set up for him had remained binding. Draco had explained everything to her in her native tongue- rationality; respectful of feelings without sugar-coating anything. He’d been quite blunt when he’d said that if she wanted to be his mistress, then he’d misjudged her entirely.

 It was his respect for her through their separation that had brought Hermione back to his door when she realised she was carrying his child. They sat down like civilised, rational people and discussed the fate of the human they inadvertently begun growing. Astoria had been consulted, Hermione assumed, though she’d never spoken two words together to her. The witch had borne the brunt of quite a decent scandal when the press had managed to work out that the date on the wedding certificate and the declaration of the birth of the Malfoy heir were a little too close for the older generations. A pregnant bride would certainly explain the seemingly hurried nuptials. Malfoy, that sly devil indeed.

 Hermione crossed her ankles the other way. Knowing rationally that your child is going to be raised by people who will love them, provide for them, create a wonderful family for them- it was a lot simpler and easier in theory. Reality is often far harder and messier and more impossible. There would always be a corner of her heart that belonged to that little blonde-haired child, and Hermione knew that as long as Draco and Astoria were willing to allow her some place in their child’s life, no matter how small or casual, she would take it.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Haley and Mel, for enlightening and encouraging my love of fan fiction.


End file.
